The Billionaire CEO Becomes the Youngest Emperor-Chapter 7 - : Masterful stroke

Hundreds of nobles were seated in the grand throne hall, the air thick with an oppressive scorn. Contempt clung to the atmosphere like a heavy mist, and now every gaze turned toward the one who had dared to call this gathering.

Their expressions left no room for doubt — irritation and disdain twisted their faces. A task imposed by a mere child — a child now weakened, his missing arm making him all the more pitiful and despised.

"Honestly, what could the late Emperor have been thinking? With all his talented children, he still chose to entrust the throne to such worthless trash!"

The murmurs grew louder, a wave of discontent rising — until a single voice, deep and powerful, sliced through the noise.

It was not Lucian's, of course.

"Must I remind this esteemed assembly that we are ruled by a crippled man?" The words came from Marquis Clerc, his tone light and almost amused.

A shiver rippled through the room. All eyes shifted between Lucian and the Marquis. The insolence was unmistakable. Yet unlike his steward Chris — who stood beside him, trembling with barely restrained fury, his fists clenched so tightly behind his back they turned white — Lucian remained unshaken.

Chris bit his lip, fighting the urge to lash out, fully aware that any impulsive reaction could only harm his Emperor's position.

"I fear for the Empire's stability," Clerc continued, his voice dripping with false concern. "Wouldn't a weakened leader inevitably compromise our strength against our enemies?"

Lucian, ever composed, answered in a voice as cold as ice:

"You fear for the Empire, Marquis?"

A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips — a smile far more terrifying than any outburst.

"How noble of you," he continued softly, his words laced with quiet venom. "Especially coming from a man whose every action has undermined this Empire's stability... for his own selfish gain."

The murmurs swelled again. The Marquis's brow furrowed, irritation flickering across his face, though he struggled to maintain his calm.

"You accuse me without proof, Your Majesty," he said smoothly, his tone sugar-coated.

Lucian ignored the protest.

"As for my condition..."

With deliberate calm, he raised his severed arm just enough to command every gaze. The room fell silent, tension mounting.

"If a ruler's strength were measured by the integrity of his body," Lucian said softly, his eyes locking onto Clerc's with an unwavering intensity, "then perhaps you might indeed have a place here."

The words hung in the air, razor-sharp.

"Unfortunately for you," he continued, his voice dropping lower, "true strength lies in the mind — and in the ability to root out traitors, whether they lurk beyond our borders... or within these very walls."

A glacial silence fell over the hall. The weight of his words crushed the room, and even the most arrogant nobles shifted uneasily in their seats.

"Rest assured, Marquis," Lucian concluded, his smile sharpening into something dangerous, "the Empire stands far stronger than you dared hope... and your days of corruption and treachery are swiftly coming to an end."

The whispers erupted again — but this time, they carried an edge of fear.

"More of his delusions..."

"He's lost his mind, clearly."

"Accusing Marquis Clerc? This is desperation."

...

...

...

And yet, beneath the mockery, a subtle undercurrent of unease rippled through the crowd. The Marquis's faction paled, their false bravado beginning to crack. Nervous glances darted among them.

"What if... he really knows something?" one advisor murmured, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple.

"Impossible... He's always been a fool... But why say it so openly?"

Despite his composed facade, a cold dread slithered down Clerc's spine. His fingers tightened involuntarily around the pommel of his cane — a small, fleeting gesture, but one that betrayed his unease.

"Does the Emperor... truly know?" whispered one of his supporters, fear gleaming in his eyes.

Lucian savored every moment. He silently observed the cracks forming behind the forced smiles of the conspirators.

After a brief moment of palpable tension, Marquis Clerc regained his affable smile, shaking his head with feigned indulgence, as though dealing with a petulant child.

"Your Majesty..." he said in a soft, carefully controlled voice. "I understand that recent trials..." He cast a fleeting glance at Lucian's missing arm. "...may have clouded your judgment. Grief and pain can make us perceive enemies where there are none."

His voice was saturated with feigned concern, each word dripping with insinuation.

"After all, I am a loyal servant of the Empire. To accuse a man who has always worked for the prosperity of this nation, without a shred of evidence..." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "Isn't that risky, in these troubled times?"

The nobles suddenly erupted, nearly laughing out loud. The situation seemed absurd.

"He's definitely lost his mind..." muttered one, a mocking chuckle in his voice. "Losing his arm has made him completely delirious." "To think we're meant to trust the Empire to such a man..."

Contempt was visible on every face. The air was thick with the idea that Lucian was nothing but a pathetic emperor. A failure, openly ridiculed even by his servants.

In one corner of the room, Adeline felt the anger and humiliation rise within her.

— "I really felt threatened by... that?" she thought, her lips pressed tight. She remembered the broken engagement, that fleeting moment when, in the span of a heartbeat, she had believed to see in him a spark of pride, a trace of dignity. She felt foolish for ever having paid attention to it.

— "Of course..." she murmured, her gaze hardening. "He's just trying to get back at my father. Pathetic."

The disdain she had always felt for Lucian reached its peak. To her, he was no longer anything but a wounded, jealous, and delusional man desperately trying to drag others down with him.

Lucian slowly rose from his throne, immediately drawing the attention of everyone in the room. But what struck the assembly wasn't just the action itself—it was the expression on his face: calm, assured... and that faint, amused smile.

As he descended the steps, each footstep resonated in the tense silence of the hall. Chris, as if anticipating his master's intentions, discreetly placed a step right in front of the table of the most influential nobles.

Without a word, Lucian stepped onto the platform... and proceeded to climb... Yes, he literally climbed onto the grand, immense table. He stood there, towering over the room. From this elevated position, he swept the assembly with a calm, predatory gaze, like a hunter watching its prey.

Murmurs immediately erupted:

— "What is he doing?" — "This is ridiculous..." — "That damn bastard."

Adeline turned her eyes away, her features twisted with disdain.

Lucian ignored them. He moved slowly, each deliberate movement heightening the tension. When he stopped in front of Marquis Clerc, his smile widened.

"You're right, Marquis," he said lightly. "Perhaps the loss of my arm has clouded my judgment... After all, I'm just a diminished emperor, aren't I?"

A brief, mocking laugh followed his words. And just as if everything was perfectly orchestrated, the doors of the hall opened.

A procession of servants entered, each carrying stacks of documents. The rustling of paper accompanied their silent distribution. Very quickly, the first nobles to read the sheets turned pale.

"These... these documents..." "These signatures... it's impossible!" "Wait... account book shares?"

Lucian crossed his arms, watching the growing chaos with undisguised satisfaction.

"I invite you all to read carefully, esteemed members of the court. You'll find some very interesting exchanges between Marquis Clerc and emissaries from the Tenth Empire. Transfers of funds... secret agreements... and even promises of noble titles, once our Empire is annexed."

The silence that followed was chilling. In the Marquis's faction, some nobles were already sweating, exchanging anxious glances.

"How... did he...?" whispered one, his voice trembling.

But despite the panic around him, Marquis Clerc remained unfazed. Slowly, he rose, adjusting the folds of his cloak with almost theatrical composure.

"I understand that His Majesty is troubled," he said in a sickly-sweet tone. "Pain, loss... all of that can cloud one's judgment. And these documents, as impressive as they may seem, could easily be forged."

He scanned the room, seeking approval—and finding it among a few nobles.

"I propose that these pieces of evidence undergo a thorough magical evaluation. By at least rank 6 researchers."

A murmur of approval rose from the crowd, some of them regaining their composure. But others remained silent, their faces etched with nervousness.

Lucian raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Rank 6 researchers?" he repeated, a shadow of ironic amusement playing on his lips. "But, Marquis... don't we have any researchers of that power within our empire?"

"That's true," confirmed the Marquis, his satisfied expression returning. "But given the gravity of the accusations, it is our duty to seek out the superior kingdoms. After all, the truth deserves the best experts, doesn't it?"

The murmurs increased. The advantage seemed to shift to Clerc.

But Lucian... still smiled.

Then, the doors opened once again. This time, with a resounding crash.

A man entered, dressed in an elegant cloak embroidered with the bright colors of the Tenth Empire. Each step he took seemed to weigh on the atmosphere. His cold, calculating face, marked by unwavering confidence, left no doubt about his importance.

Silence fell like a leaden weight.

— "Boris Zand..." someone whispered, their voice trembling.

Just the name alone was enough to chill the blood.

The emissary of the Tenth Empire advanced with measured steps and bowed slightly before Lucian, a gesture of respect tinged with irony.

— "I offer my greetings to His Majesty... and to this honorable assembly."

Then his gaze shifted to Marquis Clerc. When he smiled at him — a cruel grin, sharp as a blade — the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

— "I didn't expect to be summoned so soon..." His voice was soft, almost amused. "But it seems that the matters we discussed became public faster than anticipated."

The room exploded in whispers. Panic and outrage rippled through the ranks like a wave.

Marquis Clerc's face fell.

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Lucian slowly descended from the raised table, each step echoing with unyielding precision. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost soft... but as sharp as a knife.

— "Well, Marquis..." He let the silence hang, savoring the tension. "You were requesting rank 6 experts? I fear I cannot provide you with that..."

A playful smile flickered across his lips. He turned to Boris Zand, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.

— "...But perhaps Emissary Zand could enlighten us. After all, he is at the heart of this matter, isn't he?"

Boris Zand let out a light, ironic laugh.

— "Indeed." He shrugged, as if it were obvious. "And I fear I must confirm... every word contained in these documents."

Marquis Clerc turned pale. Beads of sweat slowly slid down his temples.

Lucian observed him for a moment, savoring the spectacle, then resumed in a falsely thoughtful tone:

— "You spoke of stability, Marquis... Ah, I understand now." He pretended to think. "It's true that a diminished leader might seem like a problem for the Empire..."

Then his gaze locked with Clerc's, glinting with mischief.

— "...But I suppose a traitor sold to the Tenth Empire, willing to sacrifice his own country for a title, now that must surely be a guarantee of stability, don't you think?"

The silence that followed was heavier than ever.

Lucian straightened, raising his hand as if to punctuate the scene, and snappe

d his fingers in a theatrical gesture.

— "Well..." He smiled, his voice light, almost cheerful. "It seems the first firework has officially been lit."

The explosion came quickly.